


You Make It Real

by Nostalgia_101



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Island, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4674668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgia_101/pseuds/Nostalgia_101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A.R.G.U.S. agents Felicity Smoak and John Diggle are sent undercover to guard Oliver Queen, whose life in witness protection is threatened when crime boss, Slade Wilson, learns his former employee may still be alive - and holds the key to his downfall. While keeping Oliver safe from Slade is their main priority, Felicity and Diggle soon realize that their lives may be in danger from another enemy closer to home.</p>
<p>(Witness protection AU).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

“Come on you stupid, useless piece of junk,” Felicity muttered, shoving her apartment key in the lock with no success. “Are you too good for your home? Is this what this is? Well let me tell you something, you sack of…”

“Are you OK?”

Felicity jolted at the sound of the man’s voice, nearly tripping over the red suitcase near her feet in her haste to turn around. “Oh my god,” she yelped, clutching the keychain to her chest as she took in the sight of the tall, scruffy guy with short brown hair glancing at her in concern. “You, mister, need a cat bell around your neck.”

The worry on the man’s face morphed into a trace of amusement. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, double-checking he’d locked his apartment door properly before turning back to her. “Are you?” he added, gesturing at her current situation before resting his hand on the strap of his gym bag. “OK, I mean.”

“Oh, completely,” Felicity replied, nudging her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’m just going for that ‘strange girl yells at inanimate objects’ vibe. Is it working?” 

“Yeah.”

She broke into a wry smile. “Seriously, though, is there some secret to these keys that I don’t know about? Am I supposed to yell ‘abracadabra’ before I unlock it? Because I’m exhausted as hell and existing on zero coffee right now, which is making me perilously close to Hulking out.” Felicity paused, pursing her lips in thought. “Although that _would_ come in handy if I want to break down the door…”

The man’s lips tugged up in another brief smile. “Try tilting the key up before you turn it. This place is pretty old,” he explained.

Raising a curious eyebrow the man’s way, Felicity put her key back in the lock and followed his instructions, pumping her fist in the air victoriously when it opened on the first try. “You’re a wizard, Harry!” she grinned. 

“… It’s Thomas,” the man said after a brief hesitation, holding out his hand.

“Felicity,” she said, clasping his hand to shake. “Your new, usually knows how to operate doors, neighbor. Nice to officially meet you.”

“You too,” Thomas smiled, gently dropping his hand from hers. “I should probably get going, sorry. Don’t want to be late for work.”

Felicity shooed him away with her hands. “Of course, go, please. Thanks for the neighborly concern, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, offering her another polite smile before striding down the hall and disappearing around the corner.

As soon as he was out of sight, Felicity leaned forward and banged her head softly against the wall. “ _You should wear a cat bell_ ,” she muttered mockingly under her breath, turning back to her suitcase to lift up the handle. “Great jetlagged stealth skills, Smoak.” Prodding the door open wider with her foot she wheeled the case inside and set it down in the entryway. “Honey,” she drawled out, shutting the door with a loud bang, “I’m home.”

The only answer was the sound of a shower being turned off in the bathroom, but Felicity was grateful to smell the heady aroma of brewed coffee in the kitchen. Groaning in appreciation, she kicked off her heels and made a beeline for the counter where a cardboard box of kitchen supplies had been dumped. Taking out a large mug, she filled it to the brim with the black liquid and brought it to her lips.

“You’re going to burn your tongue you know.”

“Son of a…” she exclaimed, nearly spilling the drink down the front of her dress. Felicity turned towards the source of the voice, glaring at the man in jeans and a black t-shirt with a towel slung over his shoulder. “I swear I’m going to buy every person in this apartment building a goddamn cat bell.”

“John Diggle doesn’t do cat bells,” Diggle replied with a smirk, sidling up beside her to make his own, smaller cup of coffee.

Felicity blew into her mug to cool it down before taking a voracious gulp, sagging against the bench in relief. “John Diggle may talk in the third person like a complete weirdo, but John Diggle knows his caffeine.” She padded over to the wooden table and chairs, taking a seat. “Why _have_ you gone all third person on me? Undercover husband or not, that is definitely a deal breaker.”

“John Diggle just likes to annoy his undercover wife,” Diggle said with a wink, striding over to sit across from her at the table. “FYI, undercover me also likes pajama Sundays and the nickname ‘Snuggle Bear’.” He grinned at Felicity’s snort of laughter as he threw his towel over an empty seat.

“Yeah, well, no pet names for me thanks,” she said with a look of pure distaste. “Especially food-related ones, they are the worst.”

Diggle rifled through his backpack on top of the table, taking out a small, black jewelry box and handing it to Felicity. “Here’s your ring.” He raised an eyebrow at her expectant look. “I’m not getting down on one knee.”

“Spoilsport,” she teased, opening the box to find a white gold band with a simple diamond in the middle. Felicity slipped it onto her ring finger, holding her hand up in front of herself to take a better look. “Perfect fit,” she marveled. “A.R.G.U.S. really don’t kid around in keeping _all_ their agents’ personal details on file do they.”

“Yeah, they’re fun like that,” Diggle retorted, taking his cell phone out of his jeans pocket when the message alert went off.

Felicity took another sip of coffee. “Is that Lyla?” she asked as Diggle gave her a nod in return. “How’s your actual wife doing?”

“She’s coping,” said Diggle, typing out a quick response to the text. “Her leg’s not broken like we first thought, just fractured, so at least that’s good news.”

“Did she find out who set off that explosive in the warehouse while she was still gathering intel?”

Diggle frowned, laying his phone down on the tabletop. “Lyla’s convinced it was one of Bertinelli’s crew but Waller says she’s already investigating another lead.”

Felicity tilted her head in contemplation. “Uh-oh, you’ve got your face on.”

“What face?”

“Your Miss Clavel ‘something is not right with Madeline’ face,” she replied, clasping her hands around her coffee mug. “Or in this case, something isn’t right with Waller.” Felicity lowered her voice. “Do you think she might be keeping info from us?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Diggle muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve given five years to this unit, you’d think I’d have earned more trust by now.”

Felicity offered him a sympathetic smile. “Hey, I’ve only known you for a year but I trust you with my life and _then_ some.” She twisted the ring around her finger. “I don’t know how I’d get through work sometimes without you, Lyla and Cisco as my cheer squad.”

“I’m only in it for the pom-poms,” said Diggle, smiling at Felicity’s eye roll. “Same goes for you, though, Smoak,” he added in a more serious tone. “You’ve saved my butt way too many times to count - and flying in from Moscow to sub in for Lyla is definitely one of them.”

“Don’t sound too grateful just yet, Digg,” she warned, standing up to retrieve her purse from atop her suitcase. “I’m not exactly in the top tier of A.R.G.U.S.’s fight club.” Felicity took out her tablet and opened an encrypted file, returning to Diggle at the table. “It’s one thing hacking into the Bratva’s private network from the safety of a hideout. It’s another to play guardian out in the open for someone with Slade Wilson’s target on their back.”

Diggle took a sip of his drink. “I know you’re used to the tech side of things, but your weapon and combat training is coming along nicely.”

“I’m no Rocky Balboa,” she scoffed. “ _Pebble_ Balboa at a stretch.”

“Trust me,” Diggle smiled fondly. “You can hold your own.” He pointed to her tablet. “Give me a recap of what you learnt.”

Felicity cleared her throat before beginning her spiel. “Thomas Archer, aka Oliver Queen, is a former employee of crime boss Slade Wilson and has been in witness protection just over eight months,” she rattled off from memory. “Oliver worked as a bouncer at Slade’s nightclub, Verdant, but had to go into hiding after he saw Slade murder another employee, Roy Harper.” Felicity glanced at her tablet screen where there was a mug shot of Roy. “He looked so young,” she murmured, before shaking her head. “Everyone, including Oliver’s family, believe Oliver to be dead but there’s been rumblings of Slade and his men getting wind of the cover-up.”

“Lance is pretty pissed about that,” said Diggle, leaning back in his chair. “It’s hard enough operating as Queen’s handler without the added stress of having a mole in the precinct.”

“Does Detective Lance have any leads on who the traitor might be?” asked Felicity, frowning when Diggle shook his head. She looked back at her tablet. “Now of course this whole case wouldn’t be A.R.G.U.S.’s usual cup of tea – or cup of arsenic in Waller’s instance,” Felicity mused, taking a distracted gulp from her coffee. “But once you hear ‘Mirakuru’ thrown into the mix along with Slade’s name, your ‘oh shit’ radar goes off the charts.”

“I can’t believe the crazy bastard might have got his hands on another batch.” Diggle gave her a weary sigh. “Trailing the Russian mafia is sounding really good in comparison right about now.”

“At least the ‘crazy bastard’ isn’t a Mirakuru-enhanced crazy bastard… yet,” Felicity muttered, rubbing at her tired eyes under her glasses. “We know Oliver’s not considered dangerous but his potential knowledge about the super serum of doom is. Which is basically Christmas for Waller but a big murder-y no-no for Slade. So now we have to put on our Kevin Costner bodyguard boots for a couple of weeks until we bring Slade down.” She took a deep breath, throwing Diggle a satisfied smile. “Did I miss anything?”

“The ‘I Will Always Love You’ karaoke portion?” Diggle shrugged, offering her a smile. “No, sounds like we’re definitely on the same page. Now we just need to keep monitoring Wilson’s crew and insert ourselves into Queen’s life without him freaking out and bailing on us.” Diggle knitted his eyebrows together. “Lance may not be as imposing as Waller but I sure as hell don’t want to endure his wrath if we lose his charge.”

Felicity gnawed at her bottom lip. “So, funny story: Oliver may have already inserted himself into _me_.” She cringed, ignoring her friend’s laugh. “Just imagine that sentence didn’t sound so wrong.”

“When did you see him?” asked Diggle.

“Out in the hall before,” she replied, jerking her head towards the front door. “I thought he’d be at work already and I was tired and yelling at objects and he struck up a conversation.” She paused when Diggle let out a hum of consideration. “What?”

Diggle sat back, folding his arms. “Nothing bad. It’s just from the recon work I’ve done the past day and a half I’ve noticed Queen’s the lone wolf type. Which makes sense given his situation,” he shrugged. “He just didn’t strike me as a ‘howdy neighbor’ kind of guy. Maybe he took a shine to you,” Diggle gently teased.

Scrolling her finger across her tablet screen, Felicity stopped at the photo attached of Oliver, one taken for his ID badge at Verdant a few years ago. His face was clean-shaven and his hair slightly longer than what it was now. 

“Or maybe he was just trying to gauge the level of crazy from the person shouting at their keys,” Felicity retorted, looking back at Diggle. “I don’t need my pretend husband playing wingman to try and set me up with a guy who faked his own death, you got me?” she warned in a joking manner, before stifling a deep yawn.

“Noted,” Diggle replied, giving her a mock salute. “I _will_ , however, play wingman for your health and suggest you rest up for an hour before we do anything else.”

Felicity nodded, draining the last of her coffee. “Thanks. I barely got any shut eye in Moscow and private work jet or not, I’m hopeless at sleeping on planes.” She stood up and shuffled towards the sink to rinse out her mug. “Although, in hindsight, drowning myself in caffeine just now probably wasn’t the wisest choice.”

“I’ll offer you decaf next time.”

“That is _surely_ grounds for divorce,” Felicity said through another yawn, pointing at the towel on the chair next to him. “And why is that there instead of on the towel rack? This isn’t a hotel.” She broke into a grin at his look of surprise. “This marriage thing could be kind of fun, Snuggle Bear.”

Diggle tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “I’ve created a monster.” 

* * *

As a Vegas native who now resided in Starling City, Felicity was more than a little rattled by the quiet, suburban town she currently found herself in. Roller coaster hotels and pyramid-shaped buildings she could handle. A place that didn’t even have a Starbucks, however, well that was just an episode of The X-Files waiting to happen.

Felicity strolled down the picturesque main street towards Oliver’s workplace, a little retro slice of life called Mae’s Diner. She peered through the window, unsurprised to find an abundance of red vinyl and black and white tiles. There were a few customers enjoying their lunch, none of them disturbed by the fact that their resident chef, Oliver, was currently thumping the side of the old style cash register in furious intent with a frying pan. Chuckling softly to herself, Felicity opened the door of the diner, hearing a bell tinkle above her.

“Try shouting abracadabra at the same time,” she offered by way of greeting, strolling up to the counter to take a seat on a cushiony stool. “I hear that can work.”

Oliver glanced up mid-swing, his irritation melting away into a pleased, albeit sheepish, smile when he noticed who it was. “Felicity, hey,” he said, carefully setting the pan down on the countertop. “This thing tends to jam up at least twice a shift and the usual methods weren’t working.”

“Interesting,” Felicity mused. “I’ll have to remember that one next time my TV’s on the blink.”

Oliver wiped his hands clean on the front of his white button-up chef shirt before handing her a menu. “Coffee?” he asked. “I seem to recall that was an urgent matter earlier.”

“Coffee is _always_ an urgent matter, Thomas,” Felicity replied, smiling when he retrieved a fresh pot and a mug from the end of the counter. “Thank you,” she said, opening the menu as he poured the hot beverage. Felicity noticed Oliver’s gaze linger on the jewelry on her left hand. “I told my husband I wanted a ring pop instead but he didn’t listen,” she joked, tucking her hand underneath the menu. Felicity thought she only imagined a brief flicker of disappointment cross Oliver’s face before he resumed his previous friendly smile.

“How long have you been married?” he asked lightly, setting down the coffee pot.

“Just gone six months,” Felicity replied, pretending to browse the all-day breakfast section. “My husband’s got family nearby and his mom’s not well, so we decided to move from LA to be closer to them,” she added, rattling off the cover story her and Diggle had devised. “Small town life should be… interesting,” she said with a laugh. 

“That’s one word for it,” Oliver replied, resting his hands against the bench. “I’m sure it will grow on you in time.”

She glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Speaking from personal experience?”

“Something like that,” he said quietly with a small smile.

She noticed the way his shoulders slumped and put down her menu. “Since I’ve got you here, what does the chef suggest I order?” she said brightly. “Although can I _really_ trust the judgment of a man whose pants match the floor tiles?” she added, glancing at his black and white checked attire with a smirk.

His posture took on a more relaxed state. “Occupational hazard,” he retorted with a gleam in his eyes, pointing up at the specials chalkboard above his head. “The chocolate-chip pancakes are pretty good.”

“Sold,” she replied, hitting her hand on the counter like an auction gavel. “Just don’t scrimp on the choc-chips, OK? There are already enough disappointments in life.” Felicity ducked her head to take a gulp of coffee, missing the way Oliver’s eyes flitted briefly to her wedding ring.

Oliver cleared his throat and collected the frying pan resting against the register. “I’ll go get started on your food,” he said, making his way to the open plan kitchen behind the counter. He grabbed some pre-made batter from the fridge while the pans heated, then scooped a large cup of choc-chips from a canister. “Enough?” he called out, holding it up on an angle for her to inspect.

Felicity gave him a thumbs-up, gazing around the diner as he set to work. “So when do I get to meet the world famous Mae of this fine establishment?” she asked, swinging her feet against the bottom rung of the stool.

“How are your time travelling skills?” Oliver replied, waiting for bubbles to form on top of the batter.

“My DeLorean’s in the shop. Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure Mae died in the 70s.” He poured another dollop of mixture into a second pan. “The place is owned by her daughter, Rose, and Rose’s husband Jeff. The family’s been kind to me,” he added in a pensive tone, nudging at the edges of the pancakes with his spatula. “They’re good people.”

Felicity felt a small pang of sympathy stir in her chest. “I don’t suppose they’re hiring new staff are they?” she said lightly, steering the topic into less brooding territory for Oliver and a more tactical one for her. “I’m kind of lacking in the job department at the moment.”

“Do you have much serving experience?”

“Are you kidding me? _Heaps_ ,” she lied. “I worked in a few restaurants when I was younger, and I was managing a bookstore before I moved so I’ve got the whole customer service thing down to a fine art.” Felicity grinned at him; eternally grateful Pinocchio-induced nose jobs weren’t real. “I _love_ people.” She flinched as a customer let out a huge belch as if on cue, practically rattling the entire shop. “I love 99.9% of people,” she amended with a grimace, while Oliver ducked his head in amusement.

They fell into a comfortable silence while Oliver finished his cooking. He carefully arranged the pancakes in a neat stack and brought them out to Felicity with some cutlery. “There could be a position,” he said, setting down the items in front of her. “One of my colleagues just left on a vacation they won but I don’t think they’ll be returning anytime soon.”

“Why not?” said Felicity, drowning her pancakes in syrup before cutting out a large section. “Holiday romance? Beach cocktail addiction?”

“Car accident,” he replied, quickly reaching for the water jug when Felicity started to choke on her food. “Are you alright?” he asked, hastily pouring her a glass.

She took the water gratefully, coughing before she gulped some down. “Eyes are too big for my stomach, that’s all,” she croaked, taking another drink. “Either that or you need to stop bragging about your cooking prowess. Do you have any napkins?” 

Felicity took a moment to compose herself while Oliver’s back was turned. She knew plans had been put in motion by Waller to extract one of the diner staff so an agent could take their place, but Felicity hoped the accident was just an unfortunate coincidence with the vacation. She mentally shook herself from her thoughts when Oliver offered her a handful of paper napkins. “That’s awful to hear about your workmate,” she said, dabbing at her mouth. “Will they be OK?”

Oliver nodded. “She’ll be in hospital for a while but she’s supposed to make a full recovery.”

“That’s good to hear,” Felicity exhaled, her relief genuine.

“I’ll have a word with Rose and see what I can do about the job,” said Oliver, taking out a small order pad and pencil from his back pocket and placing them on the counter. “Write down your contact details and I’ll be sure to pass them on.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” Felicity jotted down the number of her burner phone, handing back the paper with a smile. “You’re officially my hero. And you should _definitely_ get a superhero costume,” she enthused.

“Can’t say costumes are my thing,” he said, scratching at the back of his flushed neck.

“Don’t be modest, every hero needs one,” Felicity teased, taking another, careful, bite of her food. “You’ll be reaching wind beneath my wings status in no time.”

Oliver huffed out a laugh, lifting his gaze when the bell above the door jingled and a man walked in headed straight for the counter. “Hi, welcome to Mae’s. Table for one?”

“Two actually,” Diggle replied with a friendly smile, giving Felicity’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he sat down next to her. “But my wife’s already nice and cozy right here so don’t worry about the table.”

“Hey you,” she said to Diggle in what she hoped was a breezy manner. She tilted her head towards Oliver, who had taken on an oddly guilty appearance. “This is Thomas, our neighbor I was telling you about earlier.”

“Hey, man, great to meet you,” Diggle replied, holding out his hand for Oliver. “I’m John.”

“Good to meet you too,” said Oliver, giving Diggle’s hand a firm shake. “Just, uh, let me know when you’re ready to order,” he added, before stepping aside and busying himself with filling the sugar dispensers.

Diggle grabbed the coffee pot from in front of Felicity and poured himself a cup. “So what have you been up to while I unpacked the kitchen?” he asked Felicity with a wink.

She smiled, knowing ‘unpacked the kitchen’ was code for ‘rigged up a few unobtrusive surveillance cameras in Oliver’s apartment’. “Nothing much,” she shrugged, mopping up some syrup with a forkful of pancake. “I gave Thomas my number.”

There was a rattle of glass as Oliver nearly dropped the tray of dispensers he was carrying to the back counter. “For work purposes,” Oliver hastily clarified, his eyes darting between the two of them before he sat the tray down. “We might have a job opening here.”

Biting back a laugh, Diggle nodded. “That sounds great, _peach pie_ ,” he said to Felicity, jolting slightly when she deftly kicked him in the shin.

“Doesn’t it?” she retorted with a saccharine smile, turning it into a glare when Oliver ducked down to the ground to retrieve a fallen lid. “ _I’m gonna kill you_ ,” she mouthed silently at Diggle, earning a smirk from the man for her efforts.

“All-day breakfast sounds like my kind of deal,” Diggle announced suddenly when Oliver resurfaced. “I think I’ll go for the poached eggs plus all the extras. Although I’ll probably need to work it off in the morning,” he said, patting his stomach. “You look like you work out. Where’s the best gym around here, Thomas?”

Oliver noted down Diggle’s order to ring up later. “There’s only one gym in this town, if you could call it that,” he replied with half a shrug. “It’s the building next to the gas station two streets over. Minimal equipment but better than nothing.”

“So no salmon ladder then?” Diggle joked.

The corners of Oliver’s mouth ticked up. “Not even a minnow-sized one.”

“That’s OK,” replied Diggle, picking up his coffee cup. “Guess I’ll just have to build on my arm strength another way.”

“… Yeah,” said Oliver dubiously, throwing a glance at Diggle’s already-gargantuan bicep span. “I can see why you’d be concerned.” He picked up the coffee pot to refill. “Your food won’t be too long.” 

“More pancakes too, please!” Felicity chimed in, giving Oliver a big grin. She waved her fork in the air at him. “And don’t…”

“Don’t scrimp on the chocolate-chips, I know,” he said in amusement, marching his way into the kitchen.

Diggle leaned his elbow on the counter, resting his chin on his hand. “Should husband-me be jealous you two are already finishing each other’s sentences?” he joked, keeping his voice pitched low.

“Oh please,” Felicity scoffed under her breath, spearing the last syrup-soggy piece of her pancake. “Should _wife-me_ be jealous you two are making cute fitness jokes together?” she goaded. “How about you flex your arms some more, tiger?”

“Can’t use up all my good material in one day, can I?” he smirked, glancing over to make sure Oliver was busy with the sizzling frying pan. “He seems like a decent guy,” Diggle murmured in a more serious tone. “I really hope this all ends up in his favor.”

Felicity nodded, watching as Oliver added a generous cup of chocolate-chips to the pancake batter. She smiled to herself when he paused in contemplation before adding another small scoop. “I really hope so too.”


	2. Chapter 2

“… And that’s how I accidentally set my workbench on fire yesterday,” Cisco finished with a rueful grin, holding up a few sheets of paper to his webcam for Diggle to look at. “Otherwise the new protective gear for you guys is coming along nicely. Check it out.”

Diggle leaned in closer to the Skype window on his laptop to inspect the designs, giving Cisco a nod of approval. “Impressive. Helmets, Kevlar… wait, no cup holders?”

“When you work out how to morph into a Transformer, then we’ll talk.” Cisco put the documents back on top of the charred desk in his lab. “So, how’s fake married life treating you?” he asked with a grin, propping his chin on his hand. “Should I send you guys a toaster? Blender maybe?”

“We’re more of a ‘Mr. and Mrs.’ matching bathrobes kind of couple,” said Diggle, folding his arms across his chest. “The fluffier and shorter the better.”

“Mini-robes, gotcha,” Cisco said, pretending to jot down the idea on a scrap of paper. “Thanks for the mental image, dude.” He paused, raising an eyebrow before pointing at something behind Diggle. “Now _there’s_ an outfit that won’t cause nightmares.”

Twisting his head around, Diggle smirked when he saw Felicity emerging from the hallway in her new diner uniform: a 50s style pink dress with white trimmings, including a sewn-on ruffled apron she was trying to smooth down.

“Damn, girl, you look awesome,” said Cisco, waving at Felicity when she glanced up and gave him a quick curtsy. “I feel like we should be singing the Happy Days theme song to you.”

“Oh don’t worry, the Fonz here has already tortured me with it this morning,” said Felicity, poking Diggle in the arm as she sat next to him. “ _Multiple_ times.” She fished a matching ruffled white headband out of her apron pocket before sliding it onto her head. “But he can laugh all he wants because I genuinely love this outfit.”

“Does it come with roller-skates?”

“No, I’m so sad,” Felicity pouted. “Knowing me and my graceful elegance, though, it’s probably for the best.” She picked up her purse from the table and took out a tiny, wireless earpiece, synced up to her watch. “Just imagine a giraffe on wheels,” she said, securing the device in her left ear, “and then applaud that giraffe because it would still do a better job than I would.”

Cisco took a sip of his cherry Slurpee, shuddering when the brain freeze set in. “Did you get the brooch?” he asked, rubbing gingerly at his forehead.

Felicity nodded, taking the silver bow and arrow pin out of another compartment in her purse. “What’s with the Robin Hood of it all?” she asked, securing it to the top pocket of her dress. “And isn’t it a little on the nose? Archery brooch, Thomas _Archer_?”

“It’s meant to be a Cupid thing,” said Cisco with a shrug. “I thought you could say it was a wedding gift so you liked wearing it for sentimental reasons.”

“How schmoopy of you,” Felicity teased. She traced a finger over the delicate jewels encrusted in the piece. “So the button on the back sends out a silent alarm to Digg?”

“Or if Richie Cunningham asks you to prom,” said Diggle lightly, acting wounded when Felicity gave him another whack on the arm. “We had the GPS reconfigured too like you suggested last tech meeting,” he added.

Cisco broke into a broad grin. “Plus another surprise: you can actually detach the arrow stem from the fletching and use it as a weapon of tiny destruction. The end’s coated in a chemical solution that’ll knock someone out if you stick them with it.”

Felicity immediately dropped her hand from the jewelry, throwing a wary glance at the brooch then at her friend. “Your mind is a scary, brilliant wonderland, you know that?”

“Thank you,” Cisco replied, his eyes suddenly widening. “Oh man, I just thought of the best name for you.”

“Here we go,” muttered Diggle good-naturedly.

“ _Warrior Waitress_ ,” Cisco announced in an overly dramatic stage whisper, tracing his hand through the air. He waited for a response but was met with two blank stares. “No? Too much?”

“I take back the wonderland compliment,” said Felicity, leaning across to end the Skype call. “Bye Cisco!” She laughed at her colleague’s indignant protest just before the screen went blank. “Oh shoot, is it almost noon?” Felicity yelped, eyeing the time on the laptop before bolting up from her chair. “I’m going to be late for my first shift.”

Diggle picked up the keys from their hire car and handed them to Felicity. “I’ll keep tabs on Slade’s people and come see you guys later.” His lips curled into a smirk. “Have fun, peach pie,” he teased.

Felicity rolled her eyes, snatching the keys from him with a wry smile. “Watch it, Chuckles. I’ve got a poison brooch and I’m not afraid to use it.”

* * *

_So far so good_ , Felicity thought to herself as she took down another order. _The ‘lunchtime rush’ is actually more like a leisurely stroll and I haven’t dropped food on anyone’s lap… yet_. “Won’t be too long,” she smiled at the elderly couple sitting by the window, before turning on her heel and making her way to the kitchen where Oliver was plating up a cheeseburger.

“This is ready for table five,” he said, adding a basket of fries to the side. He took the slip of paper from Felicity as she swapped it out for the plate, a small frown creasing his forehead as he read the order. “Um, Felicity?”

“Yeah?” She stopped mid-turn, resting the plate back on the counter when she saw the expression on his face. “Oh god, what have I done? You look like I just offered to sneeze in everyone’s milkshakes.”

“No, no it’s nothing… too bad,” said Oliver, carefully contemplating his next choice of words. “It’s uh, well it’s your handwriting,” he finished awkwardly. 

“My handwriting?” Felicity replied in confusion, taking the paper from between his fingers. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked, inspecting the page.

Oliver stepped around the island bench to stand next to her, pointing at the scrawl up the top. “If we were playing Pictionary I’d say it was a drawing of squiggly grass, but I’m pretty sure that’s not on the menu.” 

“Hey!” she exclaimed indignantly, hitting the back of her hand against his chest. “That clearly says waffles.”

“And what does _that_ one clearly say?” he asked innocently, gesturing to the scribble underneath.

“That, Mr. ‘maybe you need glasses more than I do’ says…” Felicity confidently began before trailing off, rotating the page on an angle. “OK, I have no idea what I wrote there but the answer’s ‘The Secret Garden’ for our imaginary game of Pictionary.”

Oliver shook his head with a soft chuckle. “How about you double check with the customers just so we don’t serve them up fried fertilizer.”

“On it.” Felicity took a step away before turning back to him with a quizzical look. “If my handwriting is so avant-garde, how have you been filling the previous orders?”

“Guess work,” he replied, collecting the waffle batter from the fridge. “And most of them are regulars so I already know their orders.”

“Why didn’t you just say something an hour ago?” she asked with a laugh.

He gave half a shrug, busying himself with pouring batter into the waffle iron. “It’s your first day. I didn’t want you to feel stressed.”

Felicity broke into a soft smile, picking up the burger and fries to deliver on her way to redo her page of scribble. “Table three, right?” 

“No that’s table…” he stopped when he noticed her smirking at him.

“Five, I know. I’m just messing with you.” She took a few steps back. “I appreciate you looking out for me but don’t be scared to pull me up on stuff. How else are we supposed to work as a team?” Her ponytail swished as she spun around. “Pictionary or otherwise,” she called over her shoulder.

* * *

A few hours into her shift Felicity returned from a bathroom break to find Oliver swearing under his breath at the cash register. “Ooh, can I have a turn hitting it with the frying pan?” she said, wiping her hands on her apron as she stood next to him. “I’ll give it the old baseball heave-ho.”

“You play?” said Oliver, alternating between the pan and thumping the side of the machine with his fist.

Felicity shrugged, holding her hand out for the implement. “If by ‘play’ you mean ‘watched A League of Their Own about a million times’ then yeah. I’m a pro.” She wiggled her fingers, frowning when he didn’t offer her the pan.

“I’ll have to see your swing next time,” he replied, giving a short nod towards the booth in the far corner. “You’ve got a visitor.”

She angled her head to see Diggle sitting with a newspaper, waving at her. “Do you mind if I take five minutes to say hey?” Felicity asked Oliver. “He’s probably just come to see how my day’s going.” 

“Sure, no problem, go for it,” said Oliver with a too-bright smile, turning his attention back to the register.

Felicity strode around the counter over towards her partner in crime, who had chosen the booth closest to the jukebox to partially mute their conversation. “Hey, you!” she chirped, settling halfway into the chair across from him before belatedly realizing she’d better attempt a less ‘you’re my platonic fave’ greeting in case Oliver was watching. In an awkward half-stooped position, Felicity leaned across the table to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Wow, your skin’s, like, baby’s ass kind of smooth,” she whispered in wonder as she sat back down.

“And they say romance is dead,” Diggle replied, closing his newspaper with a smirk just as the first bars of the Happy Days theme song blared out from the jukebox speakers.

“You _didn’t_ ,” she groaned, snorting out a laugh when Diggle waggled his eyebrows in time with the music.

“Best dime I ever spent. So, how’s work?” he said, leaning back in the cushiony booth seat. “Set anything on fire yet?”

“I think you’re confusing me with someone who has a severe Slurpee addiction,” she haughtily replied, folding her arms and fixing him with an unimpressed glare, which steadily broke into a grin. “It’s actually been fun,” she said, loosening her arms to rest on her lap. “As far as random jobs go anyway.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Diggle nodded, rummaging in his jeans pocket for his phone. “And I’m sure the friendly _company’s_ fun too,” he added, reveling in Felicity’s exasperated sigh.

“Does anyone ever tell you you’re annoying? I feel like this should be a thing you’re aware of.” She tilted her head to the side in thought. “Maybe via singing unicorn telegram.”

Diggle entered the passcode on his phone and opened up his emails. “People in animal suits freak me out,” he replied, sliding over his phone. “Take a look at these.”

Picking up the device, Felicity’s eyes widened when she scanned the attachments from Lyla. They were surveillance photos of Frank Bertinelli leaving a coffee shop in Starling City, the very same coffee shop that also functioned an A.R.G.U.S. façade for meet-ups. “What the hell is he doing there?” she muttered, flicking through to the other pictures.

“That’s exactly what I want to know,” Diggle grimly replied. “Lyla’s been going stir-crazy cooped up with her injury and no way to get to him herself. So she got a journo she trusts, Iris West, to tail him.” He tapped his fingers distractedly on the tabletop. “Looks like Lyla’s suspicions were warranted.”

“What is Waller playing at?” Felicity’s brow furrowed in concern as she handed Diggle back his phone. “Ugh, god,” she said, rubbing a hand across her stomach. “This whole thing is giving me rollercoaster kinds of nausea. Boss-related anxiety is _exactly_ why I left my last job,” she muttered.

“Speaking of work, our favorite chef keeps not-so-covertly sneaking glances this way,” said Diggle, folding up his newspaper and tucking it under his arm. “I think I better leave you to it.”

Felicity nodded, continuing to rub small circles over her stomach. “I’m guessing that means you don’t have any _other_ updates to share?” she said quietly.

“All silent on the home front – for now anyway.” Diggle stood up and edged his way around the table before ducking to give Felicity a brief kiss on the forehead. “Not quite a baby’s ass but still pretty soft,” he said, chuckling as she pretended to throw the ketchup bottle at him on the way out.

Rising to her feet, Felicity walked towards the kitchen where Oliver was preparing a stack of blueberry pancakes. “Sorry I took so long,” she said, grabbing a pitcher of cold water from the fridge to pour herself a glass. “He’s a talker. Even more than me.”

“No problem,” said Oliver, carefully pouring batter onto the hot pan. “Was everything OK?” he asked lightly, keeping his eyes on the food preparation.

She took a sip of water. “Yeah, everything’s cool.” Felicity paused, wondering if their corner booth was as out of earshot as they thought. “How come?”

“You both just looked a bit worried, that’s all,” Oliver replied, immediately cringing at himself. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business,” he added, a hint of red staining his cheeks. “Forget I said anything.”

“Don’t stress,” Felicity said with a smile. “I appreciate the concern but we’re alright.” She set her water down on the bench. “Just some… family drama. You know what it’s like,” she added offhandedly before mentally chastising herself. _Way to bring up a sore point, Smoak._

But Oliver just gave her a small, fleeting smile, and waited for the pancake batter to cook. “Want me to whip you up a batch while I’m here?” he said, twisting the spatula in his hand. “Chocolate-chip of course.”

Felicity shook her head. “As much as it pains me to say, I think I’ll have to pass for now,” she said ruefully, patting her belly. “My body must be shutting down with all this weird fresh air,” she joked. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll be craving something after, so don’t think you’re completely off the hook.”

Oliver’s gaze flickered towards her stomach then back to her face in a contemplative fashion. “Would that be fried fertilizer or a sneeze-shake?” he asked, the corners of his mouth tugging up as Felicity rolled her eyes and went out to attend to a customer.

* * *

The front door of the apartment opened while Felicity was heaping sloppy mac and cheese from a saucepan into a bowl. “I cooked dinner,” she called out, hearing Diggle drop his gym bag in the hall. “Air quotes implied of course.”

Diggle walked into the kitchen and refilled his sports bottle at the sink, eyeing the mess Felicity had left on the stovetop. “Are we air quoting ‘cooked’ or ‘dinner’? Because that looks like the aftermath of a Cisco lab experiment.”

“Oh, my _sincerest_ apologies, I forgot I had Gordon Ramsay in my midst,” Felicity retorted, settling on a chair at the table in front of her laptop and two tablets. “Just for that you can starve.” She shoveled a forkful of food into her mouth. “How was date night at the gym with Oliver?” she mumbled.

“Fine. Sweaty. Lacking in proper equipment.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had a few dates end that way,” she smirked. “Very disappointing.”

Diggle gave the pan an apprehensive onceover before scooping a few spoonfuls onto a plate. “Oliver seemed a bit distracted,” he said, joining her at the opposite end of the table. “He was reading something on his phone when I came out of the change room. Didn’t look too pleased.”

“It may have had something to do with this,” she replied, passing him one of her tablets where a news article was open on the Starling City Gazette webpage.

“Queen family plot vandalized,” Diggle read aloud, looking at the accompanying photo of Moira, Robert and Thea Queen standing forlornly next to Oliver’s extravagant graffiti-covered plaque where his ‘ashes’ were buried. “The police are still examining evidence,” he continued to read, “but Moira Queen’s current mayoral campaign, which has ruffled more than a few political feathers, is sure to be an underlying factor in the attack.”

Felicity licked some sauce from her top lip. “Or not,” she said grimly. “Yeah, there’s some offensive stuff about Mrs. Queen on there, but whoever did it was _pretty_ selective with where their punctuation landed.”

Frowning, Diggle enlarged the photo. “His year of death has a question mark over it. That’s definitely not a coincidence.”

She nodded. “And you can’t spell coincidence without ‘Slade is a giant turd-weasel’. Trust me, I won many a spelling bee in my youth.”

“OK, so all signs are pointing to Wilson’s crew flaunting their knowledge that they know Oliver’s alive, but there’s still been no movement.” Diggle dragged his chair around to get a better look at the various devices, all set up with surveillance and alerts. “It doesn’t add up.”

“It’s definitely concerning.” Felicity took another bite of pasta while she brought up another program. “I’ve been combing through the Iron Heights database as well to see if any recently released perps have had any contact with Slade. Fresh blood and all that.”

“No luck?” said Diggle, stabbing at some mac and cheese with his fork.

Felicity shook her head. “But we’ll keep our eyes peeled for…” She broke off when Diggle started to cough violently, scrambling wildly for a napkin to spit his food into. “Too much salt?” Felicity tried to joke, wincing when he rushed to the sink for a glass of water.

Gulping down his drink, Diggle gave her an incredulous look. “Trust me,” he rasped, “salt is the least of your worries.” He dug into his pocket and found a pack of gum, unwrapping a piece and popping it into his mouth. “You enjoy the rest of your meal of doom. I’m going to call Lyla before the food poisoning sets in.”

“Does this mean you’re on dinner duty tomorrow?” she called out after him as he walked away.

“For the sake of both our digestive systems, lets just make that role permanent,” Diggle retorted, closing his bedroom door behind him.

Shrugging, Felicity had another bite of her food. “Works for me,” she said, glancing around the quiet kitchen, the only occasional sound coming from her computer. “Dinner for one again, just like old times,” she murmured, chuckling softly to herself. “Talking to myself, _also_ like old times.” 

Propping her tired feet on the chair across from her, Felicity brought up the surveillance feed from Oliver’s apartment on her laptop where she found him sitting at the table with a bowl of food in front of him. She snorted when she saw the empty Kraft box on the kitchen bench. “The chef’s special for both of us tonight then it seems,” she said, her smile slowly fading when she realized he wasn’t eating, just staring at his phone with a troubled expression. She flinched when he suddenly threw his cell across the room, scrubbing his hands over his face before slouching back in his chair to stare at the ceiling.

Felicity felt a pang in her chest at the sight of the real Oliver, the one who was hurting and angry and not putting on a façade just to get through the day. She hesitated for a brief moment before picking up her burner phone and typing out a text.

_Impromptu Pictionary game clue #1: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

Hearing the beep of his phone, Oliver sighed, staggering to his feet to retrieve it from where it landed on the couch. Felicity saw his face brighten when he saw who the message was from, and counted the smirk on his face as a success when he read the content. Her own phone whistled with an incoming text.

_Is it us tomorrow when the register inevitably screws up again?_

She laughed, her thumbs working quickly across the screen in reply.

_Close but no cigar (seriously though who wants a cigar anyway? Why can’t it be ‘close but no red wine’? Because trust me, that’s something I would fight for. Like, you would be going down in a pretty severe arm wrestle let me tell you…)_

Felicity watched Oliver chuckle at her incoming ramble. He perched on the end of the table before typing a reply.

_Do I get another Pictionary clue? Or does that require an arm wrestle too?_

Biting down the smile across her lips, Felicity responded.

_¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Night Thomas!_

She caught a hint of melancholy in his smile and noticed his thumbs hover over his phone screen before he typed back his response.

_Goodnight Felicity._

“What are you looking so pleased about? Did you finally find a way to build your own TARDIS?”

Starting at the sound of Diggle’s voice, Felicity clicked out of the surveillance feed and schooled her features into something that she hoped was more neutral. “No, but Tech Village _are_ having a half off sale, so hello gaping hole in my credit card.”

Diggle smiled, opening the fridge to try and scrounge around for a meal. “Lyla said to say hey.” He picked up a questionably dated Chinese takeout box and gave it a sniff. “She also said to apologize to you for the food critique but I told her the trauma was warranted,” he smirked.

“Cute,” said Felicity, gathering her dishes to put in the sink. “And let me just counteract by saying people in glass houses shouldn’t throw food poisoning insults when they’re about to eat ancient leftovers willingly.”

“It’s not…” 

A warning sound chimed from Felicity’s laptop diverting both of their attention back to the screen. Diggle came and stood behind Felicity while she quickly returned to her chair. “Slade?” he asked grimly.

“No, but one of his Evil Scooby Gang is approaching the airfield near Starling,” Felicity replied, as she brought up the trace info. “Looks like Isabel Rochev’s about to board a plane.”


End file.
